Alex Tomoff

Fake blood
Red color. Blue. I put it on carefully. It looks so real. Absolutely real. Although I’m not doing this for a living anymore, I’m still good.

For twenty years I was a special effects artist.
Now, I’m nobody.

Four years before retirement, I got kicked out with fifteen more men. Our company stopped functioning, at least in that form. And as for us – I don’t think anybody
worried much about us at all. No one complains about money. For all these years we had our time to think about money.

Now everybody’s enjoying his untimely pension together with a wife, children, some even with grandchildren.

And I have my harmonica and fourteen shelves with books, each and every single one,
which I’ve read at least four times.

Red color. Blue. I put it on carefully. It looks so real. Absolutely real. Although I’m
not doing this for a living anymore, I’m still good…

I pull my shirt out from one side. I tear my sleeve in half; I lie down on the ground and
wallow in the mud.
If that’s not enough, I touch the details of my filth and degradation…

I look like I’ve been beaten to death or maybe in a car crash…
My face looks like it had a meeting with a train and then I had a fight with a
blackberry bush.
My clothes are like the rags of a beggar.

***

I walk a few blocks to see people’s reactions.

They believe.

I take a cab and go to the first neighborhood on my list. A few people from the bar and my sister’s friends live there.

I wait for some of them to see me.

That’s what entertains me – you see what a miserable life I’m living…!

“Hey, hey, hey… what happened to you?! Are you alright? Should I call someone?
How did that happen? You had a car crash?!”

Dumb look. “I don’t know you! Get lost, asshole!”

“Are you alright?!”

“Do I know you?! Why don’t you get the hell out of here?! Ah?!?!”

“Don’t you recognize me? It’s me…”

Every single time it’s the same: “Don’t you recognize me… it’s me… are you alright?!…”

***

It’s not even half the fun it used to be.

***

The next day I’m there again, at the same place, with the cleanest possible face in
the world.

I wonder how they feel when they see me the next day – only one day later – in such
good condition.

Haven’t they ever doubted?!

Hasn’t anyone ever doubted?!

After all…

“Yesterday…”

“What?”

“Yesterday… didn’t we see each other?”

“Oh, no! Yesterday I was home all day. I had a little cold. I’m better now, but
yesterday I sneezed my brain out.”

They always look at me like they are seeing me for the first time in their life. Like
I’m a rare kind of bird or something, like I have three hands with six fingers each.

That’s what entertains me – you see what a miserable life I’m living…!

***

Red color. Blue. I put it on carefully. It looks so real. Absolutely real. I’m still
good.

(!!!)…

“Hey, hey, hey… what happened to you?!?! Are you alright? Should I call someone?
How did that happen? You had a fight?!”

Dumb look. “I don’t know you! Get lost, asshole!”

“Are you alright?!”

“Why don’t you just go…?!”

(!!!)…

That’s what entertains me…

***

Thin rope.
Tight and high chair.
It’s comfortable. Very comfortable actually. To sit on, to put your feet on, to…
I’m very good at dramas.
Very.
I tighten it up well. It’s stable.
I check.
Any minute now.

Now I will feel what so many years I have been imitating.

One…
Two…
Three…
The first thing I did was pee on myself.

One…
Two…
Three…

How can all this be returned to the beginning?Can we start again, please?

I saw where I was wrong.

Well, I’ve seen that before too.

But I’ve never corrected myself. I had no courage. No courage at all; not for anything.
Ever. And I’ve never been a part of mankind. What divided me from them was a huge
abyss which I tried to fill with fake blood and makeup, but it was still there and even
more obvious to everyone.
To everyone.

I’ve never corrected myself.

I had no courage. No courage at all.

Never. I’ve never turned into a human being.
And my neck took the whole weight of my body and of what was supposed to be my
soul as well.
It didn’t go off as quickly as I thought it would.

“Don’t move me. Leave me alone.”

“Are you alright? Say something!!!”

I’m not alright. Actually I’ve never been. And if I have to be honest – I’m much betternow than before. Than before. Leave me alone and stop dealing with me. Don’t roll meover. Don’t touch me. PLEASE! Leave me alone.

“No pulse…”

Thank you!

“He’s not breathing…”

Thank you!

“Sorry, there’s no point. That’s it… It’s over…”

Thank you!

And good night!

And that’s what entertains me…

… you see…

Alex Tomoff started writing as a songwriter in the days when he still had a blues/rock band. He worked as a business reporter and international news reporter before committing himself entirely to fiction. Now he’s writing novellas, short stories, flash fiction and poems. His first book, a short story collection I Quit My Guardian Angel is Drunk, was published in Bulgaria by Janet-45 His work has previously appeared in Thieves Jargon and Word Riot.